Jail is a bad place. LA County Jail is no exception.
What’s taking place behind those bars is a microcosm of what’s taking place on the streets.
Nevertheless, I was astonished at the racial division inside the jail. A division that is promoted by those in charge. A division that’s become, over the years, ingrained in the system. Everything is set up around it.
The history of the LA County Jail system is not unlike LA County itself. And the whole nation knows about the deadly riots that have taken place over the decades…like the Watts riots of the 60’s and the Rodney King riots of the 90’s.
So, I guess this systematically enforced racial division does help to maintain order. But it just seemed wrong. And many of my fellow inmates, of all races, expressed similar sentiments.
I spent the largest amount of time during my three weeks in the jail in Dorm 611 of Wayside, aka, Supermax. This dorm housed around 70 or so inmates of all races. About 10% were white. The rest were evenly divided between blacks and latinos.
The racial division was very much a part of day to day life in this dorm. Everything was divided racially, from the bunk areas, eating places, showers, toilets, phones, to cleaning duties, use of the exercise area, etc., etc.
You weren’t supposed to share food with other races, or make gifts of food, or other items to them. You could talk to them, but you weren’t to get too friendly.
These were the rules and it didn’t pay to disobey.
Sounds pretty ugly, doesn’t it? Like another world…
well, sort of.
But, even though all that was like an overlay on life in the dorm, underneath it, I witnessed a racial harmony that belied this division fiction.
I say division fiction, because, even though the rules were certainly a reality of your everyday experience, the unspoken truth that everyone realized was, hey, we’re really all in this boat, shit-hole, or however you might want to refer to it, together.
Please, thank you, excuse me, were words spoken repeatedly throughout the day. That seemed kind of odd, considering the circumstances.
I never would’ve thought prison could be so, well, polite. Even to a greater degree than life on the outside.
I write in this blog about this concept of the Big US. That the reality of things is that even though society is divided along racial, ethnic, cultural, political, socio-economical, religious, and other such lines, we humans really are all in this boat together.
That’s the reality behind the overlay of the division fiction.
When things get bad, really bad, that sense of togetherness tends to rise to the surface…as it did on the tough streets of New York in the immediate aftermath of the 9-11 attacks.
And prison is definitely a place were things are bad for everyone, no exceptions. There’s no one, I repeat, no one, in there who wants to be in there.
So, despite the division fiction, there’s truly a sense of togetherness, of brotherhood, of unity.
The point of this post is that if the division is indeed a fiction on the inside…
I would surmise that it’s also one on the outside.
And if we could just step back and take notice of that fact…
maybe all the idiocy behind racial strife and tension would just melt away.
image credit: Ryan_Brady via Compfight cc
Dude!
Wow! Powerful! Meaningful! Touching! And interesting as hell! I read it straight through and I don’t do that with many things.
Either I have difficulty finding things that hold my interest or I have an extremely short attention span.
Did I somehow miss what the original charge was for, that began this journey of yours, into the depths of the very bowels of our (air quotes), criminal justice system? If you did not share for a reason you choose to perpetuate, I can respect your privacy.
I enjoyed so much of how you related your experiences in your text, it’s next to impossible to pick a favorite, but here is a fine example. “Inmates come into the system dripping with the gasoline of racial tension. A small spark can set off an explosion.”
Thanks for sharing!
Thank you much for the comment and kind words. I had fallen behind in support payments due to my business going south. That’s what motivated my trying to “repatriate.” I had no idea that anything was going on in the U.S. and I never was notified of any court date, either formally or informally. That said, it was an experience I am grateful that I was given the opportunity to have.